Rage Is The Devil's Hand
by BeeHawYeeHaw
Summary: Box shouldn't have threatened Trewlove, and takes manhandling Morse too far. Nobody is happy. REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED


Chaos ensued as Ronnie Box raised his hand, all intended to give Trewlove a sharp slap.

Yet, he hadn't anticipated the extent of the backlash that was to follow.

The young Fancy swooping in, the ever so protective knight, grabbing the DI to save his love. Trewlove, never the damsel in distress, being whisked away by Strange, whisking her away from the evil dragon that was Box.

Morse, having the unfortunate timing, yet being no less chivalrous, stepped through the threshold as the mighty beast raised its paw. There was no hesitation as he flew in to aid.

His intentions were purely to calm the anger that had arisen in the room, Just luck was never on his side and the events turned south.

Box's henchman (Danson? Dawson?) had had similar thoughts, pouncing forward and grabbing George like a lion going to protect its own. He pulled on the young constable with easy, as if he was no more than a bug, desperately latched onto a larger, tougher being.

However, he put up one hell of a struggle in the other man's arms.

The Sergeant was roughly grabbed by their foe, digits digging deep into the muscle of Morse's paper-thin shoulders. Backup was preoccupied.

The two men collided and Morse swore he could feel the aggression rippling off of the DI. The sergeant raised his hands in defence, catching onto his opponent's jacket, trying to push him back.

Only, this is where Endeavour's mighty brain and lack of brawn failed him.

Bone met wood as his lower back was driven into the desk, items clattering everywhere and falling to the floor.

"Someone's carefully organised desk, ruined." Morse thoughts wandered briefly.

He sure a paperweight was lodged under his lower back, digging into the skin where his clothed had ridden up. Sharp pain in his abused spine bloomed. A pen sat lonely beside his ear. Loose stables stabbed into his palm. A fan, if running, would have caught his hair.

Had he been a true knight, clad in armour, perhaps his body wouldn't have later formed so many bruises.

But then again, he'd take human Box over a dragon.

A large hand founds it's way into his hair, grabbing the locks in a vice-tight grip and yanking full force. His head was lifted, pulling awkwardly on his neck, before being slammed back down again. And again. And again.

He couldn't get the time to yell.

The box was in a fit of rage and drunk, completely blinded by it. Had he slapped the woman, he might have just gotten away with a warning, maybe a suspension for the day. Not that Bright would stand for it, Trewlove being like his daughter and a dear friend of most of Cowley's employees.

Still, attacking one of their sergeants, and Fred's surrogate son no less? Surely he'd lose his job, if not his life at Thursday's hands? A mistake, even if he found enjoyment in smashing the smartass' head in, he would sorely regret if he found himself jobless.

Fred would be furious, anyone knew that. Morse was his protégé, his bagman and his son. One finger laid on the lad would bring the Governor's wrath down upon the unsuspecting sod, and find themselves sore, dazed and fearing the DCI of Oxford Cowley.

Bright wouldn't be happier either, having taken a liking to the young sergeant after months of bitter thought and accusation of big headedness. Maybe not as close as Thursday, though the Superintendent protected his own and he wouldn't tolerate anything.

Trewlove might feel guilty, seeing as she was the one the boys had gone to protect. Although, no one saw her as the one to blame. It wasn't her fault Ronnie Box, trying to subtly watch the place, had parked on double yellow lines, A WPC skipping them would have seemed suspicious. She was just doing her job.

Trewlove also wasn't to blame when the Inspector of robbery couldn't get over being told what he was wrong by a uniformed office (and woman no less.)

Strange would be equally as pissed. Worried too, for Morse was a close friend.

Fancy would build an overwhelming sense of dread, not knowing how to help in any useful way.

A gruff, stormy shout rang out in the small precinct as Morse's head once again met with the desk. The beast above him was ripped away with cheetah-like speed, taking a couple of light coppery-brown strands with him. Box disappeared from Morse' rapidly darkening vision.

It was all becoming fuzzy, sounds blending into one another. The ceiling suddenly zoomed out.

Where was he?

Work...Of course.

Endeavour felt tired. Sudden and extreme fatigue befalling him. He knew be shouldn't, it was working hours and all, except. sleep was tugging him closer, desperate to wrap her tight grip around him. Swaddling him like a child and keep him as her own. The place was noisy. Voices or some sort of sound louder than the opera he played. Too loud. It was all _too loud!_ Why wouldn't they shut up?

His eyes fell shut, locked shut by exhaustion

He wasn't working, he'd just been fighting the dreaded dragon from the robbery unit. Didn't he deserve rest? His body ached, he'd done all of the work.

"Up you get lad."

With a disgruntled, defiant snort, Morse - Detective Sergeant and knight of Cowley station - disobeyed orders and took his well-earned rest

* * *

Fred had stayed behind, Morse going ahead once dismissed, finishing up his report to Bright and a brief update on the wives. No time for a drip of scotch. They had work to do.

His stroll from the Superintendent's office to his own was halted before sped up when a ruckus sounded from the room ahead. With quickened steps, the inspector rounded the corner. _The bloody hell were his detectives doing?_

Thursday spied Strange before he'd stepped through the doorway, large hands held to the WPC's much smaller arms. Leading her away. Almost protecting her.

An odd thought passed his mind, only briefly

As, when he fully found himself in the room, Fred came to understand Jim's defensive stance. It was like they were in secondary school. Morse pressed onto the desk, Robbery's DI hunched over with his hand buried in the smaller one's hair, as if they'd conjured up a student-like scuffle, fighting over a girl or reputation. Which, when you looked at the basic facts, was the whole cause of those. Trewlove and Ronnie's precious reputation.

Except this was more like a bloody battle than a simple scuffle.

Ronnie was attacking mercilessly, clearly having the upper hand, with more body mass and muscle swinging in his favour. Endeavour was trapped underneath him. _Bastard_.

"Oi!"

A mighty rage that, if put up next to that of the Devil's, would send the Fallen Angel scurrying to the corner of his cage, erupted in the heart of the Inspector. A physical representation would be incomprehensible, however, himself would probably be ablaze with how hard it burnt inside of him.

With a growl deep in his throat, aged hands found themselves bundled in the younger DI's jacket, ripping him away from Thursday's bagman.

Palms flew open briefly, letting the brute stumble back just enough for Fred to burying them back in the man's lapels.

In a flurry of motion, Ronnie Box was slammed into the wall, no less grace for him than he'd given poor Morse. Regardless, Thursday had the sense to not bash the villain's head in, instead of settling for a vicious threat. He was panting, energy wasted on beating a fellow detective than actually pursuing his ongoing investigation.

"Try that again-" Thursday threatened, shaking as he held the man tall, clothes becoming ruffled. Fred was ready to give Robbery a piece of his mind, how dare they enter _his_ station, threaten and beat _his_ people-

Then the Superintendent marched in.

"What is the meaning of this?"

The room quietened. Trewlove was safe by Strange. Fancy no longer held back. Fred let go of the tan coloured jacket, it being straightened out as everyone separated.

"Just giving the WPC a few words of advice, sir.

"Ss'abit more than that" Strange spat, disgust clear in his talk. Only, Bright's attention was held by the Sergeant, unceremoniously dragged over another's desk.

"Morse?" He questioned, already sliding his way through.

George, being the closest, almost jumped forward, peering down at the man.

Thursday swivelled around faster than a tornado. _Morse!_ With a swift stride, the Inspector was at his bagman's side in less than a second. His rage, having morphed to fear for his colleague, was on the brink of relighting and burning brighter than before.

Trewlove was already reaching for a phone - Morse's if she recalled correctly - bright mind thinking right, a saint amongst the men around her. Much more than just good for typing.

999 was pressed into the dial, a moments breath before her soft, calm voice sounded into the room and through the phone itself

"Ambulance, please. Cowley station. Quickly"

Blood had spent its time moving its metaphorical house. Having slowly began to relocate to the dark desk, settling down to stay rather than remain, circling through Morse's body. As if it was fed up of its monogamous routine, it sprang at the first chance of freedom.

Eyes, usually so deep and mysterious, with their emotion more breathtaking than their colour, were dull. Unfocused. So unlikely Endeavour.

"Up you get lad." The Inspector spoke, a flake of hope dancing in between the command. Willing for the boy to be fine.

Morse gave an irritable noise and promptly passed out.

Fred promptly caught him before he hit the floor, sliding right off the -haired head falling forward, coming to rest again Thursday's sturdy shoulders.

Two tentative fingers were pressed to the neck. The _thump thump_ of his pulse beat under them. Steady.

"I think you should remove yourself from my station, Inspector Box" Bright spoke with such calm you could almost imagine the blazing eyes and frothing at the mouth.

"But sir-" Box tried to argue, not wanting to back down and lose.

"That was _not_ a request, Inspector." He stood tall, back straightened, intimidating. "You can not enter my detective team, use the beneficial resources and members to survey Nero, then proceed to embarrass a junior officer and attack another."

Ronnie Box peeled himself away from the wall, stepping around the men on the floor with his tail between his legs. His Sergeant tailing behind him with an awkward glance back. The opposition was gone.

Thursday turned his full attention to the lad collapsed into his arms. A hand pressed to the back of his head came back warm and sticky, ruby liquid painting the skin.

"I want a full recount of the events from all of you, this behaviour will not be tolerated by Division, nor myself" The Superintendent ordered, voice soft.

"I'll go flag down the medics" Strange gave a stiff nod before rushing out of the building. Thursday caught Trewlove supplying them a pitiful look, will Fancy moved to her side. They left together. Bright stood beside him, looking down.

"Look after him Thursday, Division won't hear the last of this."

"Sir."

And with that, Thursday was left alone, cradling his bagman until sirens were calling out in the distance


End file.
